tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23092899023007818052024-03-05T10:57:50.417+05:30Devil's AdvocateMusing of a verbose mind. It borders on all that takes a skeptical and highly critical view of whatever is happening or has happened in our world..... do read it and post your comments.....
discourse is welcome.....Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-2711703002084513432011-02-07T17:31:00.004+05:302011-02-07T17:46:56.827+05:30Dark Matter<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I remember when all the games began</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / Remember every little lie and every last goodbye</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / Promises you broke, words you choked on</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / and I never walked away</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / it's still a mystery to me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Well I'm so empty</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / I'm better off without you and you're better off without me</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / Well you're so unclean</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / I'm better off without you and you're better off without me</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The lying, the bleeding, the screaming</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / Was tearing me apart</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / The hatred (deceiving), the beatings; it's over.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Paint the mirrors lack to forget you</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / I still picture your face and the way you used to taste</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / Roses in a glass, dead and wilted</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / To you this all was nothing</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / Everything to you is nothing</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Well you're so filthy</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / I'm better off without you and you're better off without me</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / Well I'm so ugly</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / You're better off without me and I'm better off alone</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The lying, the bleeding, the screaming</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / Was tearing me apart</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / The hatred, the beatings (disaster); it's over.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">As wicked as you are, you're beautiful to me</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / You're the darkest burning star, you're my perfect disease</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The lying, the bleeding, the screaming</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / Was tearing me apart</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / The hatred, the beatings; it's over.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Disaster</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />The lying, the bleeding, the screaming</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / Was tearing me apart</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> / The hatred, the beatings; it's over.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Disaster</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">It's over now...</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />- The Bleeding, FFDP</div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />A snap of fingers startled him from a state of suspension. The lyrics were making perfect sense to him. The walls of the cubicle started to come down on him. Everything’s imploding. The rage started to flow in his veins. He felt bitter. He tried to get up. Slump! A lil’ part inside him died.<br /><br />Nothing much was left inside anyways save for a bitter heart and tar filled lungs. He tried to speak. Squeak! Meek was him. His laptop screen was staring dead into his eyes. He tried to make sense of the gibberish on the screen. The words seemed to come together to make an amoeba like figure. It’s color, dark. Darker than the heady cocktail of bitterness and tar in his lungs. He wanted the figure to spawn around him and suck him in. Killing the last breath of humanity in him he had saved for his coup. It would be a bloody coup. The figure moved. He wanted to be in unison with the dark matter. The matter seemed to writhe and twist changing its shape. It was doped. It made a crying sound, a pitch which would deafen mortals. He was barely alive. He wanted to be in unison with the dark matter. Spit! The dark matter just spat on him. The defeatist in him had won.<br /><br />Snap! again. He tried to come to terms with his surroundings. The walls around him had collapsed. He couldn’t move himself. He was being crushed under his own weight. So this is how a black hole would feel like, he thought. Betrayed by the dark matter already, he now wanted to be crushed under this immense weight. But he felt no pain. In fact he wanted this to continue.<br /><br />Pat! The last stick was successful in breaking his neck, again. He mumbled under his breath and turned his neck. His colleague was holding a telephone receiver. He felt as if he wanted to shove the receiver down his throat. He couldn’t hear anything. He knew the routine all too well. The receiver was cold. He liked the numbing comfort it provided. After a while, he returned the receiver to his colleague. Looking at his face made him feel disgusted. What a sorry excuse for life, he thought. It made him think about his life as well. But he is morally subjective. He wanted to retort. He wanted everyone to retort. No one did. And this fueled his bitterness. He wanted to smash the receiver on his face, spurting blood. He wanted to be drenched in his blood. Maybe that’ll wash away some of his sins. He was true to himself. He knew the defeatist in him wins every time. And that made him feel nauseated again.<br /><br />Or maybe it was the smell of his office. Yes, it was the office. He hated the stench of conformity all around him. He hated it. But he hated himself more. The nausea was making its way to his throat. He looked at the cold and numbing telephone receiver. He wanted to shove it in his throat. Maybe it’ll stop the snot of defeat. He didn’t want to be defeated. He rushed to the washroom. He passed numerous cubicles. His hands felt numb. He punched himself in the throat. The snot that had built was pushed down, but only momentarily. And he knew it.<br /><br />Each step of his was growing heavy. He felt cracks were developing on the spanking clean office floor. He hated it. He wanted the fissures to burst open and engulf him in the molten matter that was brewing beneath. It wasn’t red. It was dark. And it was cold. Dead cold. Yet it was boiling. The matter was following him everywhere. And he lunged into the washroom. The snot was now being flushed. He felt week.<br /><br />He splashed water onto his face. The topology was gone. It was flat. He felt it was slippery and shiny like a manikin made of steel. He looked up into the mirror. But it was already painted black. He had already painted all mirrors black for the fear of not recognizing himself. He was no more human. He didn’t even look like a demon. He felt pathetic. The black paint on the mirror was slipping down. The dark matter was back again. He wanted to be at unison with it. He could now feel the stench of his office. He took a deep breath. The stale re-circulated air was cold. It smelled of dead dreams. He was hearing voices. Of dying men and dying dreams. The voices were too shrill for him to take. The rage inside him was making its way to the far ends of his limbs. He felt alive.<br /><br />The black paint on the mirror was gone. It was lying plump on his feet. He looked up into the mirror. Yes, his was an expressionless face, shiny like cold steel. He looked down at the dark matter. Rage was throbbing against his veins. He nodded. He felt the dark matter making way up his feet. He felt good after a long long time. Rage had now taken over his senses. His brain was long gone. The dark matter had now taken over him. He was black. Pitch black. He sighed. Clasped his fists. And then he made a war cry. He felt glass shattering around him. Shards of glass were flying towards him. They stuck themselves in his flesh. But there was no blood. He took out his baseball bat he had hid years ago in this washroom for his coup. It felt good in his hands. He smirked.<br /><br />The coup is here.<br /><br />He emerged out of the washroom and made way to his cubicle. He struck the bat with the worst fury known to him on his colleague’s head. He felt a sweet cracking sound. This was the best stroke he had played in his life. He stood there looking at the motionless body. It was soaked in its own blood. The blood was not red. It was colorless. He felt good. He looked around. No one cared. Everyone was busy in their own cubicles staring into their monitors mindlessly punching away at their keyboards. Slaves. He thought. He looked at the bat and then at the room again.<br /><br />The coup was here.<br /><br />He felt overwhelmed as he went on a rampage indiscriminate between human life and machines. But were they alive anyways? No. He was simply freeing souls. It would have been hours. Or days. He barely remembers this now. But it is immaterial anyways. He went out of the building and lit a cigarette. He took a long drag. The smoke hit his lungs. He got his kick. There was an explosion. The building collapsed. He was caught in the aftershocks. But he stood his ground. It lasted for hours. And he kept on lighting a cigarette after another. He threw away the last butt. Blood was trickling out his flesh. And it was red and warm.<br /><br /></div></div></div>He stood there for a while and gulped down the red pill. Darkness spawned around him.<br /><br />--<br />Sometimes your darker self is your true self. Darkness isn’t absence of light. Black isn’t lack of color. Light isn’t strong enough to overpower darkness. Colors, collectively, cannot overpower black.<br />--<br />For Sir James Alan Hetfield.Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-20507580348540918402011-01-20T16:10:00.007+05:302011-01-20T17:22:39.791+05:30Polygamy? Will have!Statutory warning: Stop judging. This post has more to do with polygamous thoughts than absolute polygamy.<br /><br />Polygamy. It's a dirty word (I'll continue at the expense of being booed as a Mahesh Bhatt clone). Or so you believe because the social construct around you has programmed your thoughts in a certain way. Here I am, claiming polygamy, something deeply detrimental to the moral-social fabric, as the truth. It is an antithesis to the very institution of marriage which is more of a system to prevent family wealth to squander away. Or in some, err most parts of India, an instrument of amassing wealth. Yes, dowry. But that is not the bone of contention here. Man is a polygamous animal. Our 'thoughts' wander all so routinely. No? Maybe you're a reincarnation of some yogi or you need to see a doctor.<br /><br />As much as we hate to accept it, polygamy creeps in our daily lives. Traveling in a bus, I can't but appreciate how a certain lady carries herself. Oh! I should've talked to that cute boy, a female's tweet proclaims on Twitter. A lil' bit of flirting is harmless, isn't it? And why or rather where do we gather the courage to indulge something as <span style="font-style: italic;">ungodly</span> as that? We're alone. It is our zen of solitude. And our thoughts wander. To the <span style="font-style: italic;">unholy</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">unacceptable</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">evil</span>. Cocooned in our monotonous 9 to 5 lives, maybe we do look forward to that bus ride, that air travel or what have you. Platforms like Twitter have given masses a medium to vent out or confess, as the case may be. It lets you be anonymous yet true. And I see more and more rants, confessing. In our secret lives, we all want to be Barney Stinson or as the older generation would have said, Hugh Hefner.<br /><br />How or why is beyond my comprehension. We just do. A rather pathetic example witnessed is of a certain moral broker of how certain birds like penguins stay true to only one partner for their entire life. Lest we should forget, we're talking about an animal, a brain which hasn't evolved. Most of the activities that animals indulge in are either out of their sheer instinct or they're wired in a certain manner. Have you ever witnessed any animal procreating beyond its mating season? No. Humans, on the other hand with their highly evolved brains and a false sense of morality mate all year long. And that is why you see so many of them around you eating away resources at will. The parallel drawn is flawed. The underlying logic beneath this example would put a Systems Theory professor to shame.<br /><br />Pick up any lifestyle magazine, TOI or whatever you read, a self professed relationship guru will be doling out suggestions to save marriages / relationships. Most of them will suggest couples to indulge in role plays and pornography. Such voyeuristic pleasures. If it was for your monogamous behavior, traffic to pornographic sites would be minuscule instead of a Goliathesqque 80% of the total traffic. Avenues like Facebook has married / in a relationship partner stalking. If you need to imagine someone else while procreating, are you really monogamous? The fact that we accept it as counseling to save marriages is a step in making polygamous thoughts legal in our moral fabric. Men are openly polygamous. Ask any woman from Delhi about her plight to cover herself from lecherous looks and you'll be opening Pandora's box. This is not to suggest that women are absolutely monogamous. All these years of my existence have taught me otherwise.<br /><br />Morality isn't absolute. It evolves with time. It is influenced by many factors. But most of it is rooted deeply in either Victorian era or is defined by the clergy or the moral police of that region. But morality is flexible. It is subjective. It varies from person to person. So should be the construct of monogamy.<br /><br />Christopher Nolan's Joker indulged in a social experiment. And he did expose the frailties of a morally strong yet weak people. We indulge in such experiments daily. And we keep the results to ourselves only to look forward to another such result. As far as morality goes, I like to baptize with the following adage, "Make a stew out of your morality and have it".Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-54745263017478873512011-01-19T14:21:00.008+05:302011-01-19T15:56:59.413+05:30French - a subset of Bengalis?<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A few thousand of years ago, some 'adventurous' </span>Bengalis<span style="font-style: italic;"> went to Europe. We now have France~ </span>Gautam<br /></div><br />Atrocious is the word brewing in your otherwise <span style="font-style: italic;">uncultured</span> mind (cultured if you're a Bengali). Atroce if you're a French. But French are too lazy to read anyways. Right? Now I've come across a plethora of blogs dedicated to decoding the rather peculiar race of <span style="font-style: italic;">Bhadralok</span> aka Bengalis. Some of them like <a style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);" href="http://dhoomk2.blogspot.com/2006/04/bong.html">Dhoomketu's</a> - The Bong give an excellent insight into a shy community. Which presses me to digress momentarily into 'Bongs'. Bongs is the culmination of the process of anglicizing which began a couple of hundred years ago. I see more and more Bengali kids referring to themselves as Bongs. The problem is a widespread one. Mallus, Tams, Bongs et all. The said communities are easily the ones aligning themselves to English education. And it is a well documented fact. Now before you get ready to shatter my mistaken-to-be-a-communist-posterior with your capitalist kicks, it is a case of mistaken identity. I hate communism as much as Lenin did.<br /><br />Coming back to the issue of a highly anglicized race, Bengalis take pride in the fact that they're <span style="font-style: italic;">Bhadralok</span> - the reminisce of ruins of <span style="font-style: italic;">Gora Sahibs</span>. Perhaps that is the reason we take pride in distinguishing ourselves from rest of India. Heck, give us our own country. Viva la revolucion! And for those from UP / Bihar / Jharkhand / Chattisgarh / MP (see what I did there!), we group you as <span style="font-style: italic;">Hindustanis</span>. For a Bengali, Hindustanis represent a brazen, uncivilized, loud, manner-less <insert> set. Which brings us back to the topic.<br /><br />Yes, the French may very well have emanated from the Bengali gene pool. And I have proof. Gaping, in your face comparison to ensue. Read on!<br /><ul><li>Bengalis are known to be lazy. Lazy shudders at the mere mention of a Bengali. French laziness is well documented. The only <span style="font-style: italic;">active</span> French was a corporal called Napoleon. But I doubt his pedigree. Yes! We're lazy because we are thinking. Of politics, of art, of wars, of culture, of nations, of Obama's policies, of Pamela Anderson's D-cups, of what-have-you. Period.</li><li> Culture - If it's one thing we can shove down rest of India's throats, it is Culture. Bengalis are the sole custodians of India's culture. It is safe with us. Look what people with frail will power from North and West did to their culture. Our's? It is still intact. <span style="font-style: italic;">Desh</span> aka Kolkata is still the cultural capital of India. So it'd be in the best interest of our nation to officially appoint Bengalis for the upkeep of our culture. French? Oh, that is their only export. Apart from a few over sized jets and particle colliers. Who cares for these anyways? </li><li>Coffee houses - Picture a place frozen in time, full of the sweet clutter of china, smoke and intelligentsia of Kolkata thronging for their daily shot of <span style="font-style: italic;">adda</span>. Yes, I'm talking about the National Coffee House on College Street. You can hog in under 50 bucks (yes, hog). Intelligent discussions free. <span style="font-style: italic;">Adda</span> is a daily activity without which a bong cannot sleep. Discussions. From politics to what have you, even porn, is discussed. And believe me you, it can get heated. France? Can you imagine France without it's cafes? No. QED.</li><li>Art- A Bengali is a born connoisseur of art. Since his birth, he is exposed to varied forms of art. What other race in India can boast of influencing their kids by sending them to learn music, painting, dancing, film making etc? At the same time? None. <span style="font-style: italic;">Hindustanis</span> are simply happy watching their kids become barbarians to continue with their business of extortion and stuff. India, we have given you your best directors, actors, singers, poets, novelists, what have you. French, their love for art is well documented.<br /></li><li>Food - A Bengali lives to eat. A Bengali will attain moksha only if he dies choking off on a generous morsel of <span style="font-style: italic;">machcher mudo</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">bhat</span>. Sweet tooth? Well a legend goes that early British settlers decided to immortalize a Bengali's love for all things sweet by coining a phrase for this phenomenon - sweet tooth. French love for <span style="font-style: italic;">good</span> food is unparalleled in Europe.<br /></li><li>Smoke - Now the next best orgasm a Bengali experiences other than the now much cliched <span style="font-style: italic;">macher jhol</span>, is a drag of Navy Cut post a heavy lunch. Unlike primitive races, we don't depend upon sex alone to experience orgasms. Salted biscuits, strong tea and cigarettes is what has kept Communism alive in West Bengal for so many years. French are avid smokers. Too bad, they now have ban on smoking in public places and cafes. Bengalis, on the other hand showed a big-collective-middle-finger to deliver a very simple message to the Central Government - Fuck You! We smoke in offices, restaurants, cafes, banks, railway stations et all. As suggested, we are a nation unto ourselves.</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Unionbaji</span> - Unions in West Bengal are legendary. So are their Union Leaders. French Unions are legendary. Their Union Leaders are pale compared to Bengali leaders. 'nuff said.</li><li>Women - Bengali women are dusky, have curly hair (or not), are voluptuous, are cultured, cook excellent food, make excellent mothers, etc, etc, etc. French women are said to possess similar qualities albeit in lesser potency. A gene pool will depreciate with years of intermixing.<br /></li></ul>Bengalis. Whattey race.<br /><br />And yes, Bengalis shall inherit this earth.<br /><br />PS: The post is a result of a drunken discussion with one of my elder cousins who wishes to stay unnamed for the fear of getting raped by <span style="font-style: italic;">Hindustani</span> barbaric women.Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-45027180848479568622010-10-07T13:19:00.007+05:302010-10-07T14:35:47.283+05:3020 reasons why Texting is better than making callsHere are 20 reasons why making calls suck. And messages are a better way of communicating.<br /><ol><li>You live in Mumbai.</li><li>The recipient lives in Mumbai.</li><li>Your service provider is Airtel/ Vodafone/ MTNL/ Some-random-new-entrant.<br /></li><li>Your recipient's service provider is Airtel/ Vodafone/ MTNL/ Some-random-new-entrant. </li><li>You're in a Local/ Bus/ Auto.</li><li>The recipient is in a Local/ Bus/ Auto.</li><li>Because you're in a public place, you don't want others to get a whiff of what is going on. Privacy FTW.</li><li>The recipient is in a public place and does not want others to get a whiff of what is going on. Privacy FTW. (Personally, I feel this point sucks. We don't give a fuck about others privacy, do we?!!)</li><li>You can sext. Yes, S-E-X-T. It's like phone sex. But you can read the conversations later and get a hard on. Plus, it can be done sitting in the middle of a corporate presentation (they suck donkey balls anyways), Local/ Bus/ Auto. Although you can have phone sex sitting in an auto, but that pervert of a driver will have fun. And charge you instead.</li><li>He/ She can sext.</li><li>You're talking to a Gujju girl, in which case your phone will be on mute but you can still hear her shrill, irritating voice. Soft spoken Gujju girl is an oxymoron.<br /></li><li>The recipient hates talking to a Gujju girl because of aforementioned reason.</li><li>You could flaunt the touch interface of your latest iPhone or an Android phone while texting (No, I don't give a fuck if the recipient has an iPhone. God, please make his/ her iPhone crush under the merciless Local. Amen.).</li><li>You could listen to a song while texting and cut out all the ambient noise.</li><li>The recipient can listen to a song while texting and cut out all the ambient noise.</li><li>You can text while you're getting laid. But that'll make you a sore loser. Get a life instead.</li><li>The recipient can text while getting laid. And this makes him/ her a sore loser. FUCK YEAH!!!</li><li>It IS easier to abuse a person in written text. And maybe he/ she will retain the message and feel humiliated. *imitating Jaquin Phoenix as <a href="http://www.patriotresource.com/gladiator/characters/commodus.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Commodus</span></a>* A-G-A-I-N and A-G-A-I-N and A-G-A-I-N.</li><li>The recipient wants to humiliate you. Where did I keep my Colt?!!</li><li>I LIKE TEXTING. Period.</li></ol>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-16126416080454538362010-09-18T12:27:00.004+05:302010-09-18T13:38:44.756+05:30The pokeAn eye for an eye will make the whole world blind~ Gandhi<br /><br />A poke in the eye will make Mumbaikars blind.<br /><br />Picture this: A street strewn apart with construction, clogged gutters, ankles submerged in water, a continuous <span style="font-style: italic;">supply</span> of humans from either side, rains lashing and wetting masses with whatever paltry means they have to protect themselves (rain gods must be having a good time watching all this, live). Everyone just wants to get into or out of the local station. And then you have a beautiful, petite figure walking towards you with a sense of urgency. There's an unmistakable ruthlessness in her strut. But that innocent face hides a sinister secret. A secret that you're going to find out soon.<br /><br />Very soon.<br /><br />The Mumbai mob pushes you forward towards your destiny. There's a poke. Pain starts to grip your entire head. Soon you feel it all over your body. There's a moment of blindness (pray that it isn't permanent). Giddy, you come back to your senses with rage getting the better of your rationale. You turn around to catch hold of your <span style="font-style: italic;">attacker</span>. But the cold, wet, emotionless mob pushes you further. Your <span style="font-style: italic;">femme fatale</span> is long gone. You curse her, the rains, crowd, the infrastructure, government (maybe even your birth!!!) et all.<br /><br />But you vow to take revenge. A revenge against the system. The crowd. You walk like a man who has found meaning in his life. Pushing aside and cursing, somewhere in the crowd your figure disappears; nudging, elbowing and pushing aside fellow humans. Humanity died today. You are now a part of a vicious cycle, engulfed by the monster that is Mumbai. At a poke. The weapon of choice: A rather innocent looking <span style="font-style: italic;">umbrella</span>.<br /><br />Gandhi died today.<br /><br />Based on a true story. No humans were harmed during the course of writing.Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-46273769076944810652010-08-29T12:20:00.005+05:302010-08-29T13:24:58.491+05:30Middle Class Elitism<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU95YIO9RZlDA5Xz0Q7HzYtNtBeLuJ0T1l5044RLphW2YC9S7ZRCqRlQpYg4JzKbnNzlqv5x8X6lKk5tpiPhTzcVmvhdJqNe_vV4vZclywKbZOJ43AKRMNfxTdUgoMpsLUJ2dQFIBgmiFR/s1600/coal_mines.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU95YIO9RZlDA5Xz0Q7HzYtNtBeLuJ0T1l5044RLphW2YC9S7ZRCqRlQpYg4JzKbnNzlqv5x8X6lKk5tpiPhTzcVmvhdJqNe_vV4vZclywKbZOJ43AKRMNfxTdUgoMpsLUJ2dQFIBgmiFR/s400/coal_mines.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510735738057913842" /></a><br />Scene 1: <i>Look Maa!! All those semi nude tribal are fighting against Vedanta (read Imperial power) which is going to usurp them from the mound they worship. </i><div><br /></div><div>Scene 2: A hip <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/South_Mumbai"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">SoBo</span></a> type woman in my home town lecturing a vegetable vendor in Anglicised Hindi, "<i>Bhai sahab! Aapko paataa naahi ki polythene bags se environment ko harm pahunchta hai. Chhi, aapko yeh practice band kaarni chaahiye.</i>"</div><div><br /></div><div>After watching Avatar and the ass kicking Na'vis received at the hands of humans (guys, I'm proud of you) and relating with their immense suffering, the middle class humane quotient is at a rise. Yours truly witnessed it at <a href="http://www.google.co.in/images?hl=en&q=indian+coffee+house+kolkata&um=1&ie=UTF-8&source=univ&ei=jBF6TKKPK834cfCawZkG&sa=X&oi=image_result_group&ct=title&resnum=6&ved=0CD8QsAQwBQ"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">The Indian Coffee House in Kolkata</span></a> (not that Bongs have anything worthwhile to do except debate at <i>addas</i> anyways). Any ways, in a mundane town like mine, the middle class is baffled at what is happening in Orissa. How can the government do that to those unarmed tribal people. It is supposed to protect the people. It is acting against the very people who elected them. Arnab 'the-I-won't-let-my-guests-speak-for-more-than-23-seconds' Goswami is behaving on the show as if he's suffering from PMS stress due to all that mining. Environmentalists and those GreenPeace terrorists are behaving in their now rehearsed 'I told you so' manner. (I've taken a jibe at all the usual suspects or did I leave someone?!! Feel free to add in comments)</div><div><br /></div><div>So the middle class blood is boiling (accept it guys, it can only boil. It's not potent enough to get your Trans fat fattened ass to get out of the couch and do something). The timing for all this couldn't have been worse. What with all the public outrage against Bhopal fiasco, Mumbai oil spill (die biatches for you have made my drive to Marine Drive hell) and now the Nuclear Liability Bill. Naveen Patnaik amidst all this, is going to Delhi and asking why he, like all the other CMs shouldn't have the right to pollute and destroy and plunder the natural resources of his state. After all Orissa is hit by a cyclone every other year. Let there be some man made disasters too! BTW, Patnaik should sack his PR guy.</div><div><br /></div><div>So what is my problem with all this? Well for starters we won't stop driving our cars. We won't appreciate car pooling (Ideate this to a Dilliwala and you may find yourself under his BMW's expensive Bridgestone radials. I won't ride in the locals or the Best buses (moving up the social ladder FTW). I'll board only the AC buses with loads of CFC. I want my iPhone chiselled out of a single block of Aluminium.</div><div><br /></div><div>In effect, I want all the luxuries of life. Luxuries which somewhere down their value chain pollute the environment. But I'll turn a blind eye to that. Akin to 'I enjoy pork but can't see a pig being slaughtered'. We, as a people want to come down heavily on all these projects which seem to uproot locals and destroy nature as we know it. It's in vogue after all. But do we ever realise why these projects never cease to exist? Such evil (if I may) corporations exist? Oil spills continue to occur? Nature being destroyed?</div><div><br /></div><div>Only because our insatiable need for all things material and luxury. Think about it, the same middle class complaining about all this is sitting in his flat in Bandra or some suburb. And mangrove vegetation in Mumbai was destroyed to provide him his housing. </div><div><br /></div><div>And yes, Na'vis will continue to get their ass kicked. Atleast in India. All this IS middle class elitism.</div><div><br /></div><div>PS: The author is in no way prejudiced against the Na'vis. </div><div>PPS: <i>Vedanta has not paid the author. Although he would have liked it. </i></div><div>PPPS: For me, GreenPeace will always remain a terror organisation. </div>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-9358465767108834312010-02-19T10:59:00.005+05:302010-02-19T12:10:42.160+05:30Us v/s them<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihl2Kvgo3VKnllPyst_Ze2e3i3_5CcVC22aWBemt7WPmog9-kJUKQtCAuQRqKRtc6TCJMByZCeokJM_XSR5YRp0EeS0x35DKqVJfRwRZ_MSo-Dd9fPuTXlKNmBbkS9aDshAQ1_RHFlhrRJ/s1600-h/waew-logo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihl2Kvgo3VKnllPyst_Ze2e3i3_5CcVC22aWBemt7WPmog9-kJUKQtCAuQRqKRtc6TCJMByZCeokJM_XSR5YRp0EeS0x35DKqVJfRwRZ_MSo-Dd9fPuTXlKNmBbkS9aDshAQ1_RHFlhrRJ/s400/waew-logo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439835094936264738" /></a><br /><div><i>Disclaimer: The following post is very harsh on 'artists'. Feel free to feel offended.</i></div><div><br /></div><ul><li>Is artistic freedom everything?</li><li>Doesn't the audience count for their presence?</li><li>Does being narcissistic and claiming I-do-it-for-my-happiness-only not amount to insulting the audience?</li></ul><div><br /></div><div>These are but a few questions that come up inadvertently between artistes(?) and audience alike when one is defending his/her work (crap in some case) and one is criticising. We've all been privy to 'art' and the lingo and air associated with the artists. The stand that they take. The way they (mis)behave. The way they question the intelligence of the audience when it comes to understanding their masterpiece. Yes, the same audience who would wait patiently for hours before these artists would start their performances, would sit through their tantrums, would stand their arrogance and believe me you, some of their so called performances are a tolling on the senses of a common man. But then we are dismissed as not having that knack of understanding art. Lesser mortals, us commoners.</div><div><br /></div><div>But who are these people performing for? Who are these people displaying their talents to? Why do they want to be recognized, receive awards, be cheered at? Ego. As much as anyone on this world may like to deny, ego is the underlying reason for many of our endeavours. It may take different forms, it may be dubbed as inspiration by many but one cannot deny the existence of ego. For me, my self esteem emanates from ego. For someone else, ego may mean something else. Appreciation is something we all crave for. As kids, we would be more than happy when we'd be patted on our backs. We all like it when we're appreciated and appraised. It's the basis of a meritocratic society. It satisfies our egos. Maslow wasn't kidding when he proposed the need hierarchy theory.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then why such despise for the common man? Why differentiate stuff as artistic and non-artistic? The so called performer who revels in his own glory after taking a higher moral ground when he says I perform for the love of performing, wants to see the auditorium/ cinema hall/ art gallery brimming with people. Why does he/she crib when not selected for a national award or some sort of recognition for that matter? The answer is ego. </div><div><br /></div><div>The notion of some people being gifted with a heightened sense of some form of art is the basic premise that gives rise to what I shall term 'art-feudalism'. Similar to feudalism, some minds (demented in some case) take unto themselves the onus of saving the world from the absence of art. Their works are critiqued and applauded within their own fraternity, given fancy names such as neo-progressive, cubism (Picasso. See I know my art!!!), et all. What do you and I understand? What do you and I care?</div><div><br /></div><div>If it was not for the common man, whose senses and intelligence are sometimes loathed at by artists, thronging the cinema halls, theatres and art galleries, these people would have been jobless. Fancy gimmicks apart (like roaming barefoot and all), belting out crap in the name of art, innovation and invention cannot be a valid logic. We all can tell how something is pathetic. Instead of taking in the criticism and improving upon, some artists sit back and blame the public on their lack of sensory perceptions.</div><div><br /></div><div>Art isn't running around the trees but it isn't for sure, capturing scenes form weird angles wherein one has to tilt his/her head 120 degrees to make sense. Art isn't being so damn abstract that only the one conceiving it understands. People, universally, can make out what appeals to their aesthetic senses.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's not always about exclusivity, it sometimes borders around abnormality.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Artistic freedom is epic fail when one does not appreciate the audience.</i></div>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-69174482443301648382010-01-26T10:19:00.006+05:302010-01-26T12:12:21.633+05:30Pliss be excusing.....Cricket is a religion. There are the demi gods. And each religion is run by clergymen. That the hierarchy of power in Indian cricket is complex is no new news. That BCCI contributes 70% of ICC's expenses is stale news. That Kevin Pietersen earned $1.55 million in the last edition of IPL is an indicator that people will kill to be a part of this extravaganza. So the news that Pakistani players are crying foul over their exclusion should not flutter wings in the Indian news circuit. But it is. And that is what is appalling!!!<div><br /></div><div>It has been a few days since the latest auction for this year's edition took place and the baseline was that no Pakistani player was bidden for (The glee on my face gives away my happiness!!!). There have been n number of comments, counter comments, people displaying their dismay at the turn of events, et all. Things, for me become farcical when celebrities owning circus teams jump in the fray to gain some cheap publicity. And who other than I-want-to-hog-the-limelight-all-the-time, SRK, jumps the bandwagon and indulges into some introspection wherein he feels that he felt <a href="http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/sports/cricket/ipl/top-stories/IPLs-Pak-boycott-humiliating-Shah-Rukh-Khan/articleshow/5500593.cms"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">humiliated</span></a> for the simple fact that Pakistani players were ignored for the bygone auctions. Humiliated?!! Yeah, right.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lets get some facts straight Mr. Khan, shall we? That your team did not bid for tells a lot about your feeling bad. Where was your sportsman? Why did you let the businessman in you overshadow the sportsman? It all sounds good when we talk about how cricket unites the people of the two nations. But sample this, a now legendary pacer of yesteryears from Pakistan stated this category that for him, playing against India is like going on a jihad. That sports are modern war format, devoid of all the weapons of mass destruction, where the pride of a nation is at stake is common knowledge. But jihad? Seriously sir, you need to reconsider your choice of words.</div><div><br /></div><div>The PCB is crying fowl now. Some politicians are doing the same on both sides. Celebrities on both sides like SRK are feeling humiliated. Because big money is involved. Call this post jingoistic rhetoric, but its not going to change facts. Things sound very rosy when we all say that cricket unites hearts. And in a few days, those united hearts carry out attack on the Indian soil. Those united hearts harbour terrorists. And the list can continue. People like SRK sometimes forget the simple fact that we call the shots when it comes to cricket. We are the El Dorado of cricket. And till the time the other country in contention cleans up its acts, boycotting them is not a bad idea.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love cricket. I love the in-swinging, toe crushing yorkers of Pakistani bowlers. Us v/s Them matches are epic. But I also mourn the deaths of fellow countrymen dying in incidents like 26/11. So if the money can be a thorn in their flesh, so be it!!!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-49004861463561240822010-01-09T23:48:00.004+05:302010-01-10T00:20:34.084+05:30Cause!!! What cause???Picture this: A person rushes to you to get your signature and email id on a petition. When you ask about the cause. They just shrug their shoulders and nonchalantly answer that its for <i>PETA something</i> and their 'cause' for doing it is because they'd been promised a t-shirt!!!<div><br /></div><div>So much so for a cause.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was privy to this scene at my ongoing college fest where PETA people have put up a booth and are promoting in their now well chronicled jingoistic rhetoric. The fact that I disagree with their ways is a different story and more on it sometime else. The point here is that the conscious of supposedly educated people is so darn cheap that it can be bought with a measly dirt cheap t-shirt!!! That PETA resorts to such gimmicks is a concern for me. The youth is happy when given badges, stickers and t-shirts is really hilarious considering the fact that we call ourselves 'concerned citizens'.</div><div><br /></div><div>The signatories too will not be unscathed in my verbal assault. Non-vegetarians sign the petition without giving it a thought that killing animals for food is antithetical to the PETA philosophy and that this act of theirs is no more than a farce. The same criticism is associated with this set of citizens too. That being associated with a cause or for that matter an NGO is <i>cool</i> is a mockery of any movement. Most of the youth takes up such <i>seemingly cool</i> causes only to leave them mid way is a pattern I've observed and no amount of vociferous denying can turn the facts head on. This, not taking away from those who really feel for some matters and devote time and efforts should be respected though.</div><div><br /></div><div>We live in an era of politically correct statements where a big number of grey haired men and women would like us to believe how we, the younger generation, are more into social causes than their generation was. The fact though is that the number of devoted people is really really small.</div><div><br /></div><div>Fellow countrymen of yore, let us respect the spirit of social causes and movements and the people who are driving it. Unless we feel very strongly for them, lets refrain from joining them just for the reason of looking cool or peer pressure for that matter. Your just abiding laws and paying taxes on time does not make you a second rate citizen.</div><div><br /></div><div>At-least don't sell your souls for a cheap t-shirt to look cool!!!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>PS: This one's for my pup Milo who I'm missing too much :(</div>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-56213371391072450062009-12-28T11:40:00.004+05:302009-12-28T11:55:04.276+05:30Beer equals happiness!!!<div>I know you guys would have seen it earlier too, but it somehow never fails to tickle my funny bone. As such its the festivities that are having the better out of us and this might just prove handy!!!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWUoxXtb-gCycJS0guGUUumji7bsh3f2yTodABEwr1DQ8kQNZWg08lblN4xyUOuypjrveOH9xI_FBLHnU0oDuBE3uETecoqyWya3E-3IgvuD9FoQEVm4Qllx6nYXkMFq8SFfSQGL1Wqbyi/s1600-h/15775_full.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 227px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWUoxXtb-gCycJS0guGUUumji7bsh3f2yTodABEwr1DQ8kQNZWg08lblN4xyUOuypjrveOH9xI_FBLHnU0oDuBE3uETecoqyWya3E-3IgvuD9FoQEVm4Qllx6nYXkMFq8SFfSQGL1Wqbyi/s400/15775_full.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420168493338452130" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-54899825417510337352009-12-27T20:15:00.007+05:302009-12-27T22:02:47.092+05:30My music.....<div><div>It was a year of great music. There were off beat movies. And there was music to compliment them. If we had a Piyush Mishra penning a beauty like <i>Yaara maula</i>, we had Gulzar with romance revisited with <i>Pehli baar</i>. Here's a list of songs which made me tap, rock, hum along or just plain old lying-with-my-eyes-closed thing. There's no rating for them. Each one is unique and when played at the right time, had a mesmerizing effect. So here it goes.<div><br /></div><div>Dev.D- Some simply outrageous posters. An awesome take on Sharat Babu's Devdas. Music that made me think. <i>Emosanal atyachar</i>- all the three versions. Three?!! you say? Include the x-rated one too. I know, you possess it. <i>Nayan tarse</i> was another song that I felt was beautifully composed. Hats off!!!</div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4f9fhcUay1CzZ0rKnde74GHoBYJ93oxH3NrGFXYNttbFjAL6mt8654iEVSxC4PNJ7IxhsiWqJOHIG-4MrEniMDoxWjDQYrOxlTdKgJtoBP0KgSBFURkX-LKNWGKXGea_eWxYJMWL2JMA/s1600-h/dev-d-2009-poster.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4f9fhcUay1CzZ0rKnde74GHoBYJ93oxH3NrGFXYNttbFjAL6mt8654iEVSxC4PNJ7IxhsiWqJOHIG-4MrEniMDoxWjDQYrOxlTdKgJtoBP0KgSBFURkX-LKNWGKXGea_eWxYJMWL2JMA/s400/dev-d-2009-poster.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419931332087271922" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>Kaminey- an awesomely written movie wherein each character was so minutely etched that one had no reason but to be in awe throughout. If <i>Dhan te nan</i> was psychotic to some extent, then <i>Pehli baar</i> satisfied the romantic in us. But the show stealer was the title track itself. What with Gulzar and his lyrics. <i>Masoom sa kabootar nacha toh mor nikla</i>. Pure genius.</div></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikeX_n23qEwrFCg6MVFtZC9UZi_qng_GHyzod5Ny4Ppxx-VnhyphenhyphenvCbDSHZBasyy6LHjLB97iw2zyOjNo8lQu_KD420zSi0EAkH1R6vSS16hf_35tavQPq1VecB0mQlMUEi0lcIn8OJzIaKB/s1600-h/kaminey.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 277px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikeX_n23qEwrFCg6MVFtZC9UZi_qng_GHyzod5Ny4Ppxx-VnhyphenhyphenvCbDSHZBasyy6LHjLB97iw2zyOjNo8lQu_KD420zSi0EAkH1R6vSS16hf_35tavQPq1VecB0mQlMUEi0lcIn8OJzIaKB/s400/kaminey.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419937164885977202" /></a><br /><div><div><div>Gulaal- hard hitting. Crass. Caustic. True. I don't find other adjectives to value this piece of art. Piyush Mishra is one of the most under rated lyricists. Listen to <i>Yaaraa maula</i> and you'll know. Or for that matter, pick up <i>Aarambh hai prachand</i>. <i>Prachand </i>is what that song is. The verse wherein he says- <i>aaj ka launda yeh keh raha hum toh bismill thak gaye...... apni aazaadi toh bhaiya laundiya k dill mein hai</i> is superb.</div><div><br /></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN2cq39G3lsuKgWWEPNUEafj0cUS1-ohVnkn0jmco1hyTv2cjmUDg2mwOCYfMb7uRMWf6GiYsb8GKwqmRn3jisp3HP4Aue59K8Lou3-7a4Mh1AhMy1K2TFuAlsz8OWtTYljZRwsWCZFmGB/s1600-h/b7c8123169717bfb4e171a2815b99f5679146e9b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 279px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN2cq39G3lsuKgWWEPNUEafj0cUS1-ohVnkn0jmco1hyTv2cjmUDg2mwOCYfMb7uRMWf6GiYsb8GKwqmRn3jisp3HP4Aue59K8Lou3-7a4Mh1AhMy1K2TFuAlsz8OWtTYljZRwsWCZFmGB/s400/b7c8123169717bfb4e171a2815b99f5679146e9b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419935898969562786" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Other notable stuff has to include</div><div><ul><li><i>Masakali</i></li><li><i>Iktara</i></li><li><i>Guzarish</i></li><li><i>Fiqrana</i> (best thing in a disaster called Blue)</li><li><i>Hai junoon</i></li></ul></div><div>PS: This post is powered by <a href="http://www.ubuntu.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Ubuntu 9.10</span></a></div>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-88875833208482369802009-12-22T11:54:00.004+05:302009-12-22T12:45:28.365+05:30The RED Dot.....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT-JeHGQ8MrcA91s7ebx-TdovaJnesogU8mVTBcB52qxTp1zyps26d2ullczJrWjjP7k_c4majA_G2J4EypEDpOe2NksL6qnx9uGPuJEet8P5YP_CVHs7DCgGsvP8532vGWV4dVqa8cIFc/s1600-h/web-red-dot.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 398px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT-JeHGQ8MrcA91s7ebx-TdovaJnesogU8mVTBcB52qxTp1zyps26d2ullczJrWjjP7k_c4majA_G2J4EypEDpOe2NksL6qnx9uGPuJEet8P5YP_CVHs7DCgGsvP8532vGWV4dVqa8cIFc/s400/web-red-dot.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417951189958352530" /></a><br />Lets get some facts straight-<div><ul><li>Gmail is the BEST email service. Ever.</li><li>Gtalk is the greatest invention since Windows 3.1.</li><li>Americans who feel that AOL is better than Gmail prove the 10=35 rule (read One night at call centre if you don't know what that means).</li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div>Now why do I write all these facts which everyone (even the Americans) already know? Well for one, I had an incessant itch to post a post for quite sometime now. For others, I suddenly realised how Gtalk has become a part of my life, the way I communicate and all. But the most peculiar thing that stands out is a behaviour pattern that has emerged out of using this chat client is the urge to stay on-line 24x7. Well almost. At least for us Indians.</div><div><br /></div><div>The moment I get up, my lappy is fired up and I'm on-line. Depending upon my mood, it'll either be a <i>red dot</i> or a <i>green</i> one. But I need to be on-line. Its an urge. A craving. Even if I'm doing something important like watching a movie, I'm on-line. Lesser evils like attending classes do not discourage me from remaining on-line. What with wi-fi and all, being on-line 24x7 is my modus operandi. And this addiction is there for most of us. Even before Twitter became a vogue. Being away, sleeping, et all do not encourage me to get off-line. My lappy's still on-line. My friends who are in the US too suffer from the same problem. And this has become a way of life.</div><div><br /></div><div>I suppose, and I know I'm not tangential from my hypothesis when I say this, but its something that all of us practice. </div><div><br /></div><div>Most of the time red works but that does not mean you shouldn't ping me. Except for those days when red really really means I'm busy. But you have no way to find that out. HAH!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>#FML Google.</div><div><br /></div><div>PS: Google in no way has sponsored this post.</div><div><br /></div><div>PPS: Google has not threatened me to make amends due to my <a href="http://cozgautamsaidso.blogspot.com/2009/11/dont-be-evil.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">earlier</span></a> posts.</div><div><br /></div><div>PPS: I would have loved if they'd sponsored this post!!! </div><div><br /></div><div>PPPS: I'm not a communist and my fascination with the colour red does not construe anything.</div>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-37462678102758609772009-12-11T00:49:00.008+05:302009-12-11T23:16:23.378+05:30Comfortably numb.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilM5YSQaRC1py-Z-TwLTdzHSCRP6ULVRoMzwosAQDmn8UjIoFSb9D_MCu23-ngonD6l_mDP6eXFGKvseCv63lkl3u6QwTsfyZU-0P1iu6NvnnitQmjpGIax2gN8dVQxWjVUyrrazypzpxY/s1600-h/politicalold.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilM5YSQaRC1py-Z-TwLTdzHSCRP6ULVRoMzwosAQDmn8UjIoFSb9D_MCu23-ngonD6l_mDP6eXFGKvseCv63lkl3u6QwTsfyZU-0P1iu6NvnnitQmjpGIax2gN8dVQxWjVUyrrazypzpxY/s400/politicalold.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413701860737640626" /></a><br />There's methyl isocyanine filled in the air. People are gasping for air rarely knowing that it may be their last breath. Those who died, didn't have to suffer the trauma of living a life of disorder of the worst kind and frailty. Those who did survive, well, their lives epitomise living hell. Justice is still a far cry for them. Warren Anderson is living a life of luxury. Mothers are forced to give birth to children with serious heart disorders. Its been 25 years since the Bhopal gas tragedy. Governments have come and gone. Much water has flown under the bridge but for those suffering, its still poisonous and they are condemned to drink it. Union Carbide has since long wrapped its business and fled. Yes fled. And what have we done? Well for starters, we have continuously pacified those agitating outside the Jantar Mantar for quarter of a century now. Pacified.<div><br /></div><div>Even the Nazis who operated gas chambers during the Holocaust were tried at the International Court of Justice. Those poor souls in Bhopal that fateful night did not belong to a particular race or religion. They were not political dissidents. What they were though were citizens of a seemingly democratic country. And they did pay for this. With their lives. Justice is still a far cry. Mankind was brutally molested on December 3, 1984. Humanity was raped beyond recognition.</div><div><br /></div><div>They say- justice delayed is justice denied. What does one say when it has been delayed as well as denied for 25 years now?!! Why is Amnesty International silent? Why are the Americans who pride themselves in sniffing out weapons of mass destruction and then duly fucking a country to stone age silent now? Is it because their people are involved in a heinous act which they are unwilling to accept?</div><div><br /></div><div>And now the best act of them all. The Indian government. The same government which vows when taking an oath of maintaining the sovereignty. The same government which vows on the constitution of withholding the welfare state flag. The same government, on the 25th anniversary of the innately tragic <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhopal_disaster"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Bhopal gas tragedy</span></a>, gifted the nation with a gift called the Civil Nuclear Liability Bill. Sounds innocuous, doesn't it? Well it is, lest the fact that it pegs the compensation by MNC's building (or even supplying parts) in case of a nuclear holocaust at Rs. 2500 crores. Its a measly sum for companies like GE. Especially when we consider the fact that the market for reactors is around Rs 60000 crores. The compensation in dollar terms would be $ 450 millions. How cheap are the lives of Indians any ways. For the organisations though, its like minting money with limited liability. Because all this while they knew that one can get away even after killing 25000 people. They had full faith in the incompetency of us Indians to bring the guilty to justice. Whatever happened to the fundamental rights guaranteed to us all in the constitution?</div><div><br /></div><div>And what does one do when the government goes ahead in fixing the liability of companies when it comes to lives of hundreds and thousands? Rejoice. For they can be rest assured now that our own government values us as nothing more than maggots swarming the face of earth.</div><div><br /></div><div>Why does Greenpeace stay silent? Why do our so called NGO's stay silent? Why do our legislators who are too busy in carving out states for themselves stay silent? </div><div><br /></div><div>States are inhabited by people. Else they become ghost towns.</div><div><br /></div><div>How many more Bhopals do we need before we wake up?</div><div><br /></div><div>When Bob Dylan said that the times are a changing, he was wrong. 'coz they are for the developed countries. For a developing country like ours, life is still cheap. Dirt cheap.</div><div><br /></div><div>Democracy FTW.</div><div><br /></div><div>But for the perpetrators of crimes against humanity, here goes-</div><div><div></div></div><blockquote><div><div><i>Even Jesus would never</i></div><div><i>Forgive what you do</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Let me ask you one question</i></div><div><i>Is your money that good</i></div><div><i>Will it buy you forgiveness</i></div><div><i>Do you think that it could</i></div><div><i>I think you will find</i></div><div><i>When your death takes its toll</i></div><div><i>All the money you made</i></div><div><i>Will never buy back your soul</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>And I hope that you die</i></div><div><i>And your death'll come soon</i></div><div><i>I will follow your casket</i></div><div><i>In the pale afternoon</i></div><div><i>And I'll watch while you're lowered</i></div><div><i>Down to your deathbed</i></div><div><i>And I'll stand o'er your grave</i></div><div><i>'Til I'm sure that you're dead</i></div></div><div></div></blockquote><div>-Bob Dylan</div><div><br /></div><div><div>PS: I have full faith in the indifferent attitude of my fellow countrymen. My son would be writing a similar post on the 50th anniversary of the tragedy.</div><div><br /></div></div>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-76118057426850387972009-12-09T15:43:00.002+05:302009-12-09T15:45:03.870+05:30Five Milds and a Verve.....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQqPPi7rH5O7Fff_5Y2oUmxwpCCXCcwrDmXPpkxi-i_lv0-V42clWvf89C_NlNmhygsSxjr-Px7p7NbMrWWbMiVOw-u8jn5pyvWqL40d5eyKZbWUHgp9t2mzKbcpgQmtThsF_sMCsM7IP/s1600-h/Pic-0032.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQqPPi7rH5O7Fff_5Y2oUmxwpCCXCcwrDmXPpkxi-i_lv0-V42clWvf89C_NlNmhygsSxjr-Px7p7NbMrWWbMiVOw-u8jn5pyvWqL40d5eyKZbWUHgp9t2mzKbcpgQmtThsF_sMCsM7IP/s400/Pic-0032.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413177665754098354" /></a>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-67706797200654897182009-12-04T19:40:00.007+05:302009-12-05T02:07:52.866+05:30Freedom is over-rated.....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6vDO11edBoOoERo1AT_65YHW4KnIP8xJOeXk7oU9FHsBCeQWg1WIc_9D7BUX2erunH91w7mV3lphaP0upyQ5zl4YtrRlnA1rd3T5vdaTVT0GWOMvVd4Mr75iaFo1cRX5zU6vtEdGXz52F/s1600-h/vote_overlord.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6vDO11edBoOoERo1AT_65YHW4KnIP8xJOeXk7oU9FHsBCeQWg1WIc_9D7BUX2erunH91w7mV3lphaP0upyQ5zl4YtrRlnA1rd3T5vdaTVT0GWOMvVd4Mr75iaFo1cRX5zU6vtEdGXz52F/s400/vote_overlord.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411427444980770978" /></a><br /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>It’s easy to fight for freedom but it’s tough to retain it.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Readers beware. The following post is going to take some digs towards the concept of freedom as we've conceived it and are portraying it (at best). But portrayals seldom last a lifetime. They too are subjected to the lifecycle of an idea sprouting and dying a death. Natural or forced alike. Be warned.</div><div><br /></div><div>Freedom is over rated. </div><div><br /></div><div>There, I said it all. And before all of the freedom loving bandwagon jumps into the debate with their cohorts, read on. Just what is it about freedom that means to you the most? To have our fundamental rights in place? Guess what, its passé. When was the last time the state did not encroach upon your right in the name of national interest?! To pee or spit on the roads?! I’d not venture down that dirty road. But what is it about freedom that makes us jump up out of our slumber and start ranting all about it is a question to which I have no answers till date. It happens all too regularly when we encroach upon the rights of others crushing them under our inflated egos and the false sense of superiority. The meek take the hit. The poor take the hit. Every-damn-time. The right to freedom of speech/ expression are the most hit. Still we vow to live by our constitution and champion the cause of freedom. Farcical.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us take some leaves out of history and understand this phenomenon better. France championed the cause of freedom almost 300 years ago. It did a good job at overthrowing the despotic rule of Antoinette who had suggested them to have cakes when they couldn’t afford bread. This particular event in history inspired many a revolutions all around the world. But did it? Almost a couple of years back, Paris faced one of the worst riots in its suburbs, ghettoising them. The prodigal champion of <i>instant democracy</i> all over the world- the US is a classic example. Bombing sovereign countries because they have a hunch that the rouge country is hiding weapons of mass destruction seems to be their forte now. The Noble peace (?) prize declared, Obama decides to up the count of soldiers in Afghanistan by 50000. Some nobility there. The Russian revolution was to create a classless and just society. But we all know how Stalin killed his own countrymen in the name of upholding the honour and dignity of the fatherland. Did someone say China? Mao. His cultural revolution. The Tien Mann square massacre. The image of a boy braving a battle tank. Freedom??? ‘nuff said.</div><div><br /></div><div>But the cited examples raise a quintessential question. Why is it so? Why did freedom fail when the intentions were good? Pious? As Edmund Burke has succinctly put- <i>All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing</i>. And believe me you, history bares naked the impotency of good men. Men of honour reduced to mere spectators by their own indifference and ignorance. And indecision. Yes. Indecision is one of the foremost reason I recognize when talking about the failure of institutions. Take an example on a micro level. There in our classes we’ve have had vociferous kids who would seem to make all the decisions all the time. And we would be left cribbing. And it’s sort of a vicious cycle that continues. But why is it so, is the food for thought here. Our indecision. Whenever we have a public with diverse interest and wants, fighting about what needs to be done, not for one moment stopping to find a common minimum interest, a figure rises and towers all the confusion bringing stability. And stability is what we long for. An equilibrium is what makes the masses happy. Period.</div><div><br /></div><div>The best example to support the logic would be the rise of Adolf Hitler himself. In a county with a bruised ego and divided thought process with an incredible amount of indecision and political instability, he brought some sort of orderliness. And when people started to blindly follow him, reposing in him their faith and support, an unprecedented genocide begun.</div><div><br /></div><div>So as we all can see, freedom is short lived. Humans somehow cannot take cognisance of that the fact their inability will lead to their downfall. One way or the other. Chaos is eternal. And so will all those with dictatorial tendencies lurking in their heads.</div><div><br /></div><div>Equilibrium will be attained. But at the cost of freedom.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Gentlemen, the melancholy event of yesterday reads to us an awful lesson against being too much troubled about any of the objects of ordinary ambition. The worthy gentleman, who has been snatched from us at the moment of the election, and in the middle of contest, whilst his desires were as warm, and his hopes as eager as ours, has feelingly told us, what shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue</i>~ Edmund Burke</div><div><br /></div></div>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-44547601854275967892009-11-29T20:55:00.002+05:302009-11-29T20:56:43.067+05:30#TweetCloud<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdjH-CiBOtHHri0cMLxIrezYuSFbg6cUvQIWjB24_vZX230HMn2lSDeWDiMC6BocHw7gS4m9TAj1_OVANOhGkxQ1WgzRyHGdOlr_S2z-5TaWGvHRhpfgLgoXP3fH24lmDGh5nORJIQ7xUi/s1600/8b4bf1c9b839b8c5e6eca6fe946727c2.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 335px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdjH-CiBOtHHri0cMLxIrezYuSFbg6cUvQIWjB24_vZX230HMn2lSDeWDiMC6BocHw7gS4m9TAj1_OVANOhGkxQ1WgzRyHGdOlr_S2z-5TaWGvHRhpfgLgoXP3fH24lmDGh5nORJIQ7xUi/s400/8b4bf1c9b839b8c5e6eca6fe946727c2.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409547329635679618" /></a>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-87108944841955872472009-11-22T12:23:00.005+05:302009-11-22T13:37:22.504+05:30Don't be evil!!!<div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">Don't be evil.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPnHtTFYV2cffk-cd6QUEBvv1Ez61hSelnn9Q5M8n1sH6WEW9iYQoZDuktgWEizV1YinCIwy5Pdq_uG3M4OZRUAdbv-5mPbD4r0b7Kapz6pvwKDj6yIeHK_My3lcT566HQ_eTrrpkGAdpS/s400/google-is-evil-300x270.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 270px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406834295159825442" /><div>But is it?!!</div><div><br /></div><div>This is an adage by Google which has captured many imaginations. Whatever Google does invokes strong reactions. Its all over the place. Everyday. Literally. With a technology company which permeates deep into our everyday lives, such reactions are natural. All this is reminiscent of the Cold war era when the world was bipolar. It still is when it comes to information indexing and Google. There's Google which knows many things about you (for now. Eventually it'll be EVERYTHING!!!) viz. your search patterns (yes, they know what all porn sites you've visited). And there are governments across the world which need Google's help. So they're pretty much okay with the idea of Google invading your privacy (sorry EU guys, but you'll eventually bow in front of Google). And there are the privacy rights group who want all their searches. For free. And no invasion of the privacy. Breaking news guys- There's no such thing as a free lunch.</div><div><br /></div><div>Gmail. Chrome browser (this neat piece of sexy code is a malware to put it mildly. Don't believe me? Well it sends all user data. Without the user knowing. Malware). Gtalk. Gtalk client. Google Docs. Wave. And now Chrome OS. Yes, the list is not exhaustive, but these are those nifty free codes which have come to define communication as we know it.</div><div><br /></div><div>And <a href="http://googleblog.blogspot.com/2009/11/releasing-chromium-os-open-source.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Chrome OS</span></a> is what is scary. Linux based. Light. Sexy graphics. Awesome. Free.</div><div><br /></div><div>Scary.</div><div><br /></div><div>Coming back to why Chrome rings doomsday bells in my head. Its all of the above. Just imagine this- as such Google is snooping on all our mails (and hence the targeted ads on the right side), our chat, our search history (if it hadn't been <a href="http://cozgautamsaidso.blogspot.com/2009/11/it-it-wasnt-for-pamela.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">porn</span></a>, google wouldn't have been GOOGLE. Right? Wishful thinking.), a malware called Chrome browser, our online docs and now an OS which integrates all this and much more. What do we have? A hundred million network of bots which relay every bit of information they can lay their hands on to their master. And snooping becomes all too easy. Its centralised now. And we turn a blind eye to all this. Why? Ease of use. Governments around the world don't care much about the privacy of their citizens. Heck, they would do anything to know what's going on beneath the sheets. And Google gives them just the opportunity.</div><div><br /></div><div>All the brouhaha created around the world as to how long these guys can retain information about people is a farce. The fact is that they have become a perfect tool of surveillance. Its fine tuning time. Google is ready to help Indian government with the UID project. Are they so philanthropic??! No. We all know how Google bowed down to the whims and fancies of the Chinese government. Or did they? <i>Lets first capture the market guys. World domination is next!!!</i> So much so for not being evil. Couple Google's indexing and storage capabilities with this fact- they are investing heavily into genetics. The genome project is already on its way. Scary? I thought so.</div><div><br /></div><div>And this is really cool- Is Google the new NSA, CIA, Mosad, et all? If intelligence is what we are talking about, it is.</div><div><br /></div><div>It has been a silent paradigm shift. They are monopolitive. Akin to a Microsoft. But unlike the seemingly bad guys at MS, the Google guys have managed to pitch themselves as a panacea. </div><div><br /></div><div>Slavery ahead.....</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 323px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiokvzbfeQWD59mxMZiyj8gI9bQv9LktsSim9ZufXYMd038ubEx2NJb_DyXU3SmygELcVfzwYjL1luV5ejZZUlvRK4JGhtFRDkiBRR-FlXYsnSsv78I2jMqzf-XZ87S-OQBBHhi0akxtlgM/s400/google_2084.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406834624270418066" /><br /></div><div>PS: Don't block my services. This post was an aberration. Won't happen next time.</div>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-49271621851177237362009-11-21T12:57:00.003+05:302009-11-21T13:46:34.816+05:30Kuch Kuch Hota Hai.....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqa6rcixg0OiKRvwxxNtpiVg2xWONg0ksqPn28rjOpATYj4VozRUIEhWfNuHlWwGtPK7ogWL35lDtDBBOtnV9ms5EtMAT8Sok3PukcnsTNO_iKwkpp6rUtw9kttD96vngmYWXIie5v0KtR/s1600/4254375Kuch_Kuch_Hota_Hai.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqa6rcixg0OiKRvwxxNtpiVg2xWONg0ksqPn28rjOpATYj4VozRUIEhWfNuHlWwGtPK7ogWL35lDtDBBOtnV9ms5EtMAT8Sok3PukcnsTNO_iKwkpp6rUtw9kttD96vngmYWXIie5v0KtR/s400/4254375Kuch_Kuch_Hota_Hai.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406467501779062466" /></a><br /><i>Tum nahi samjhogi Anjali, kuch kuch hota hai!!!</i><div><br /></div><div>The said lines made an entire movie hall gasp into a helpless 'awww' and a few seconds later, applauds erupted out of nowhere. As someone ready to step into the teens, I watched the movie with excitement. Each scene presenting an extravaganza of emotions which though sublime made girls coo for <i>SRK</i> (Damn it! He scores every-time.). The grandeur of sartorial excesses (casuals only) made kids and teens alike crave for a certain <i>Polo</i> t-shirt brand. Yes, <i>Kuch Kuch Hota Hai</i> is a case study in itself. The film is an institution. Its landmark cinema at its best. And not because any of the actors were able to pull <i>a la Al Pachino</i>. Even the director did something which in common parlance is attributed as a formula-film. No, Karan Johar did not pull off a signature <i>Subhash Ghai</i>. The story was a run off the mill love triangle (and the vox-populi dictated that <i>Aman </i>played by <i>Salman-the-shirtless-khan</i> as the one making the sacrifice. Touchy.). Screenplay, narration, cinematography- sufficient. So what makes this film an institution???</div><div><br /></div><div>Aspirations. Yes, the aspirations of a middle class, waking up from a slumber of a don't-know-how-many-years. The film made a strong comment on the sartorial senses of how we'd wanted to dress all along. It gave us a sense of style. The C-O-O-L necklace went on to become a best seller within days. Friendship bands became a rage. The glares sported by SRK were nice. Skateboards. And the college life portrayed by Rahul and Anjali was simply awesome. Everyone now wanted to play basketball. Heck, I wanted my school to finish asap so that I could attend college which was..... <i>cool</i>!!! Yeah, and how can I not mention summer camp. Every demanding kid worth his/her salt wanted to go to a summer camp. Gah.</div><div><br /></div><div>So how does all this make sense?? Well for one, the timing of the movie couldn't have been better. It had been 7 odd years since our markets had opened. We had finally started to appreciate the idea of a free market. Everything <i>phoren</i> was cool. It was a marketing blitzkrieg when <i>KKHH</i> released. I remember getting a box of Kellogs Chocos just because they gave away the music cassette of <i>KKHH</i>. And parents were shelling money on their kids (spoiling them :P) because their disposable income had risen. Sure <i>Yashraj Films</i> had already started with all such things, but <i>KKHH</i> proved to be the last straw to break the camel's neck!!! <i>KKHH</i> proved to be a tipping point of all sorts. And kudos to <i>Karan Johar</i> for that.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's to one of the greatest movies in Indian cinema in the words of Barney Stinson- <i>It's Legendary!!!</i></div>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-17427352911378993202009-11-14T18:14:00.007+05:302009-11-14T19:24:56.128+05:30Are we done with 2012???<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3kPV9sp6e9uBs4-2nog6DJyloaNvM0wBEvosMNseuvffu7EL4xdYDJFbq7NdQNfTJ0aX289GI02fRmqkRy0TEfwA7cFM_J-ZbmjbRM9w7IMFfoklMZyeYA69dFubM861rONMY-8_Rh6w/s1600-h/2012-movie-poster-375x600.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3kPV9sp6e9uBs4-2nog6DJyloaNvM0wBEvosMNseuvffu7EL4xdYDJFbq7NdQNfTJ0aX289GI02fRmqkRy0TEfwA7cFM_J-ZbmjbRM9w7IMFfoklMZyeYA69dFubM861rONMY-8_Rh6w/s400/2012-movie-poster-375x600.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403957342261565586" /></a><br />Circa winter solstice of 2012 and the world is going to end. The Mayan calender says so. The Bible seems to indicate an Armageddon up the sleeves. Nostradamus warned us in advance. All the major religions have a hunch (so to say) that the end of the world is near (forgive my ignorance but why didn't Hindus have a doomsday prophecy?! Laggards.). Doomsday sayers are having a ball. And the world ends in a couple of years (too bad for all those dying virgin. My sympathies!). And yes, news channels never had it better. Aaj Tak, India TV (#fail), Star News and all those pseudo news channels who have nothing better to report lest the plunging hemline of Kareena being the cause of markets falling and how the planetary motion is going to screw my life. Every other disaster, major or minor alike, is being treated as a precursor to the END. And the ripped off scenes of 2012 is only adding to the titillation of masses gorging on these news(?) pieces. <div><br /></div><div>The release of 2012- the movie is proving to be a tipping point of all sorts. Like the world ending and a pretty violent end at that. The reasons for the end are as varied as they come. From the earth's magnetic field changing its polarity to solar winds to the firing up of the Large Hadron Collider creating a mini black hole (isn't it exciting that according to some <i>intelligent souls</i>, we can now have our own black holes!). The director of the movie would have never thought how certain scenes he'd shot are going to be a part of news stories of sensational media often mistaken as news in India. Yes, that's what they are. Instead of reporting facts and giving us unbiased insights, a bunch of clowns under the pretext of journalism are feeding us crap. And being the nation of Bollywood crazies, we want our news to be sensational to say the least. Else, we're not interested.</div><div><br /></div><div>The biggest grunt of mine with the sensational media (<i>read news channels</i>) stems from the fact that they're not discharging their duties as they're supposed to. Panic is the last thing they're supposed to create. But no, a panic struck person on the screen ranting about his ordeal is any-day good business. The real news can wait. How else does one classify the manner in which these clowns handled the <a href="http://cozgautamsaidso.blogspot.com/2009/08/h1n1.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Swine Flu</span></a> panic in India, Pune in particular. The recent outing of Phyan and its just brushing Mumbai was covered with much enthusiasm. Felt like it was a star or something. People interviewed were happy (<i>Look Mom, I'm on TV!!!</i>). But it did jeopardise the fourth pillar as such.</div><div><br /></div><div>The fact that the title of fourth pillar has been christened onto the news media (electronic and print alike) is an indication to the fact that how important it is to any democracy. They shape democracies. A strong media means that truth will find its way to the populace. Remember <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deep_Throat"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Deep Throat</span></a></i> bringing about the eventual downfall of Nixon? It's that strong. But with great powers come great responsibilities. And this is what the current generation of rumour mongers (<i>again read news channels</i>) have forgotten. They want all the special concession they're entitled to, all the perks of being a journalist is what they want. But zero responsibility. And zero accountability too. Is this journalism? Sorry clowns, it ain't. And that's a breaking news. Period.</div><div><br /></div><div>The way they are behaving with all the clippings of 2012 downloaded from YouTube (atleast get some HD footage) makes me sick. It also proves one thing. Their getting away with such reporting and masses hooked onto their pieces is an indication- we want to be titillated. And news is no exception. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Earth, Rest in Peace.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>PS: All those virgins around, you might want to reconsider. Just in case.....</div>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-31845939938460170232009-11-07T14:38:00.007+05:302009-11-07T16:09:00.303+05:30MBA is not for you if.....<p>MBA..... For the last few years it has become a glamorised degree, what with all those MBA grads minting money. It has come to a stage where it is considered a sort of a panacea, a cure for all societal ills, including getting a girlfriend!!! But is it as lucrative as it sounds? Perhaps for all those <i>herders</i> who run MBA collages(?) in a two room flat! But I'm not going to write about the industry it has become. No sir. This post will be aimed at all those who are aspiring to join a top notch b-school and land in a million dollar package. Well dreaming is good but living in an <i>opium eaters paradise</i> is a felony in itself (pun intended!!!). And since I've completed 75% of mine, I suppose I have the moral and intellectual right to comment on the <i>rats</i> ready to join the <i>race</i>. Here's a list of reasons why you should NOT join a B-school. Don't feel offended, don't take the post personally (even if you do, I'm not going to apologise. And don't even think about threatening me, my neighbour's dad is an SP). So here it goes. Read on.....</p><p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 359px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi85XeUFIMfmp2ut1iASKzdriZ2PlWd3f6zVCDJLDvcuzCsMpJscT6GyqXAedji4LjMFEl5wIrVwKH-6A2AR83lSzd7oVrW3ZIQtdzr_GGBadqiPHyQaCkWXbD4atTXuyf_QU0GLOd30CR1/s400/b-school-evaluation.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401304463758022226" /></p><div><br /></div><div><ol><li>You are poor with numbers. MBA is about number crunching, sirs. Don't worry if you aren't, the entrance exams will take care of it. You won't be able to clear the cut-off and the world will be saved!!!</li><li>Your communication skills are poor to say the least. Sorry to break the bad news, but B -school is certainly not the place where one can improve per se. What makes you think that you did not work on it for the last 24 years of your existence and suddenly 2 years are going to change everything?!!</li><li>A B-school is not a place to gain knowledge. Its where one learns the skills to apply what he/ she has known for so long.</li><li>Common sense is not common in common people. MBA=Common sense. Henceforth the <i>mango people</i> are barred from all B-schools.</li><li>If you are the <i>toppers</i> type who have only one goal in life- to study day and night and fuck the CGPA, I suggest get a life. MBA is not for those who can mug up entire dumps and puke it all over in the exam paper. Thou shalt be called <i>CGPA chasers</i> henceforth.</li><li>There exists a glass ceiling for men. Accept the fact and move on. (If you are unable to comprehend the meaning of a glass ceiling, its pointless to read the rest of the post!!!).</li><li>Make way for the pretty girls. A fair demographic mix of the sexes ensure a good batch. So all the male losers who did not make it, STOP WHINING.</li><li>You must not be technologically challenged. If you find it tough to press a button on a computer because you're afraid the hard disk will come spinning off and behead you, its not true (the hard disk's got better things to do). And google what productivity tools like MS Office can do.</li><li>All those people who have filthy rich parents and join a B-school in management quota to <i>fool and screw</i> around, better don't get your asses down. People like me and the <i>CGPA chasers</i> will make your life hell.</li><li>You are a successfully unemployed graduate who feels that MBA is the shortest way to get a job, well its not. Its not a straight line joining two points. Period.</li><li>All those who are committed, forget MBA. MBA kills all the romance (<i><a href="http://books.google.co.in/books?id=FGFcrmPWxfwC&dq=snapshots+from+hell&printsec=frontcover&source=bn&hl=en&ei=gUD1SvWhLIqisgPbxPQF&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=4&ved=0CBUQ6AEwAw#v=onepage&q=&f=false"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Snapshots from Hell</span></a></i>).</li><li>You are clueless as to how to use the net as a tool to generate (read ctrl+c, ctrl+v, plagiarism, et all) handsome reports and presentations.</li><li>If you are the hard working guy. I cannot stress more on smart-work!!! (Gals, don't be offended but a hard working gal is a oxymoron).</li><li>Girls, if you have run away from the sword of marriage looming on your head ready to strike any-time. You'll end up getting married anyways after two years. HAH. So please don't waste the seat. Use it judiciously.</li><li>If you have the habit of getting your assignments done from your ass, err boyfriend. Start doing things on your own for a change.</li><li>If you use <i>unsuspecting testosterone laden</i> men to get your work done!!!</li><li>Stupid dumb men who would keep their assignments on the back-burner to honour the commitment of formatting the report of a beautiful damsel.</li><li>If you don't booze. (#fail I'd say).</li><li>If you cannot stop yourself from salivating at the mere sight of a girl because you never got the chance of studying in a co-ed!!!</li><li>If you are already working and have no ambitions of growth in life (also the happily content types splurging their husband's salary). And don't give the peer pressure excuse. Grow up instead!!!</li><li>What? You want me to write the 21st one too? Forget it. Get your own excuse!!! </li></ol></div>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-14302287202559677422009-11-04T10:06:00.005+05:302009-11-04T11:15:06.693+05:30If it wasn't for Pamela.....The Internet recently celebrated its 40th birthday. From being a niche research baby of the American Department of Defense and all those men who roamed about in a lab in white coats, the Internet has come a long way where the Google homepage has become a shrine, a page which is visited by the masses religiously. If Internet was a religion, Google would be its god, undoubtedly. I, for one, cannot imagine my life without a net connection (a high speed one for that matter). But a 40 year old <em>spider's cobweb</em> also brings with itself a whole lot of nostalgia. Some sweet memories of using the Internet in the cyber cafes still linger in my otherwise volatile memory.<p>Like millions of other kids, I too grew up in the post liberalization era. Cable TV was (and still is) a staple diet. Everything American was cool!!! And with all those movies playing out on Star Movies, the one's which showed that two computers could connect and communicate were watched with gaping sighs. And then it happened. Internet was ushered in my city in late 1998 in the form of those (<em>in</em>)famous cyber cafes which, time and again have been blamed for corrupting the minds of the impressionable youth (as if we ourselves don't want to get corrupted!!!). </p><p>But back then, the Internet was <em>the</em> cool thing. It was obscenely expensive. Surfing rates were as high as 100 bucks/hour. Surfing speeds, if one was lucky enough, during peak hours would peak out at 10 odd kbps!!! Some speed there compared to todays easily accessible 1 Mbps networks. And since we'd have limited financial resources at our disposal, it usually required 4 people to pool in money to enjoy an hour's worth of drive on the information highway!!! </p><p>But the major credit of attracting men towards the Internet was Pamela Anderson!!! Being the sex starved nation that we are, people would flock to the cafes to get a good look at her incredible anatomy. So you see, the Indian government should confer upon her some award for hooking an entire nation to a phenomenon. If Internet had a brand ambassador, Miss Anderson would be it. And its not as if this is true only for India. No sir. Its true for most of the world. The Internet's traffic, 80% of the precious bandwidth is still hogged by <em>adult content </em>(now don't expect me to put a link for that!!!). Also all those unknown hackers who have wrecked havoc should thank Miss Anderson as they would embed their malicious codes in her photographs and some unsuspecting lecherous prick would download it, just to find that their system is fucked!!! </p><p>Only later did we realize that apart from all this, we could actually use the Internet for some good use. Like ripping off material from the net to make reports. MBAs would be doomed had there been no net. My acknowledgements read till date- <em>I want to extend my heartfelt gratitude towards Larry Page and Sergei Bin without whom this report wouldn't have materialized. </em></p><p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 247px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSN-JJ-ZZBt0LsyRQ8hJbnPPGaoF7hijCwAwZflQVQ4gDGOp3GbJvohSJFVmEor0889CMtRF7daY0IjuuljLRCo1LD3QToJ7d-L9RMK9sXEZ33EotE7S0MM1wmlAKLEDE0QCdWaY62Ie9/s320/pamela-anderson-20070619-272095.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400116753872604754" /><em><br /></em></p><p>Here's for Pamela Anderson..... the Internet owes you much. </p><p>PS: I hope I satisfied some souls there!!!</p>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-87683165724920155342009-10-30T19:55:00.005+05:302009-10-30T20:10:33.673+05:30Sufferings in the words of Dylan.....War is old men talking and young man dying.....<p>The last few days have been particularly bloody for the American soldiers in the Middle East recording the highest number of casualties. Feels bad for the poor souls who are carrying out the wishes of their political masters in the name of patriotism. Here's to the spirit of <em>freedom</em> penned by the great Dylan himself.....</p><p>Come you masters of war<br />You that build the big guns<br />You that build the death planes<br />You that build all the bombs<br />You that hide behind walls<br />You that hide behind desks<br />I just don't want you to know<br />I can see through your masks<br /><br />You that never done nothin'<br />But build to destroy<br />You play with my world<br />Like it's your little toy<br />You put a gun in my hand<br />And you hide from my eyes<br />And you turn and run farther<br />When the fast bullets fly<br /><br />Like Judas of old<br />You lie and deceive<br />A world war can be won<br />You want me to believe<br />But I see through your eyes<br />And I see through your brain<br />Like I see through the water<br />That runs down my drain<br /><br />You fasten all the triggers<br />For the others to fire<br />Then you set back and watch<br />While the death count gets higher<br />Then you hide in your mansion<br />While the young people's blood<br />Flows out of their bodies<br />And is buried in the mud<br /><br />You've thrown the worst fear<br />That can ever be hurled<br />Fear to bring children<br />Into the world<br />For threatening my baby<br />Unborn and unnamed<br />You ain't worth the blood<br />That runs in your veins<br /><br />How much do I know<br />To talk out of turn<br />You might say that I'm young<br />You might say I'm unlearned<br />But there's one thing I know<br />Though I'm younger than you<br />Even Jesus would never<br />Forgive what you do<br /><br />Let me ask you one question<br />Is your money that good<br />Will it buy you forgiveness<br />Do you think that it could<br />I think you will find<br />When your death takes its toll<br />All the money you made<br />Will never buy back your soul<br /><br />And I hope that you die<br />And your death'll come soon<br />I will follow your casket<br />In the pale afternoon<br />And I'll watch while you're lowered<br />Down to your deathbed<br />And I'll stand o'er your grave<br />'Til I'm sure that you're dead<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgULmLYmU7QXRE-dVKt0ft07v7c2G75ABwHjkGd9hRsH_VYgcQ47LsnVgc4hvzyjmyl6U-tYIEqOEnRoG88SJO9IR9I0Nxpe0U0ECHAD3cqO1w4gJk7aWO_tm8Gv_uwB-33L2PykqQFR_Ja/s320/stockxpertcom_id196170_PeaceHands_ISSUE.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398402641451208290" /><br /></p><p>At the same time feel for all those unlucky one's who had been born in such tumultuous times on minefields, literally..... Dylan again.....</p><p>Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?<br />Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?<br />I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,<br />I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways,<br />I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests,<br />I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans,<br />I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard,<br />And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard,<br />And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.<br /><br />Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?<br />Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?<br />I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it<br />I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it,<br />I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin',<br />I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin',<br />I saw a white ladder all covered with water,<br />I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken,<br />I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children,<br />And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,<br />And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.<br /><br />And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?<br />And what did you hear, my darling young one?<br />I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin',<br />Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world,<br />Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin',<br />Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin',<br />Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin',<br />Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,<br />Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley,<br />And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,<br />And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.<br /><br />Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?<br />Who did you meet, my darling young one?<br />I met a young child beside a dead pony,<br />I met a white man who walked a black dog,<br />I met a young woman whose body was burning,<br />I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,<br />I met one man who was wounded in love,<br />I met another man who was wounded with hatred,<br />And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,<br />It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.<br /><br />Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?<br />Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one?<br />I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin',<br />I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,<br />Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,<br />Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,<br />Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,<br />Where the executioner's face is always well hidden,<br />Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,<br />Where black is the color, where none is the number,<br />And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,<br />And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,<br />Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin',<br />But I'll know my song well before I start singin',<br />And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,<br />It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.<br /></p>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-9638820953403080092009-10-24T11:40:00.005+05:302009-10-24T12:22:55.722+05:30Second rate in our own country.....Boredom and nostalgia had attacked me at the same time, and believe me, its a cocky mix!!! It so happened that I wanted to get a ticket to Pune, and having nothing else better to do and missing the good old days of getting a ticket from the reservation office, decided to head straight for the same. My lazy ass retorted to the idea, but I had the rush of nostalgia already filling me up with the excitement. And so I went.....<p>Standing five minutes in a queue and a bit of observing (mainly the <em>ladies-only</em> line!!!), this peculiar thing about our country struck me. A male foreigner was standing in the ladies only line. Given that the ladies only counter is shared by senior citizens and foreign tourists alike, but such an arrangement is done because of a few considerations for the womenfolk. Now it raises a few questions, viz.</p><ul><li>Are foreign males considered <em>at par</em> with Indian women? (Due pun intended!!!)</li><li>If they are considered harmless, then the same should apply to Indian senior citizen males.</li></ul><p><em>Atithi-devo-bhavah</em> has long been the Indian motto but I'm seriously fed up of the second class citizen treatment meted out to us Indians in our homeland which is appalling to say the least. The dollars seem to shut the brain signals of Indians coupled with our fetish for the <em>gori-chamdi</em> (fairer skin). Go to Rajasthan, visit any of the monuments of historical significance. You, as an Indian would be subjected to cordoning off of certain sections of the same monument of which the foreigners will have complete access. Worse still, many of them would have a policy of entertaining only foreign guests. Worst still, we will be subjected to all the routine security checks whereas the foreigners will not be subjected to any checks. And this comes off of an eye witness. This at a time when a former president of our country is subjected to security checks from an American airline. Looks like the terrorism bit has become the forte of Asians!!!</p><p>As an Indian citizen and a tax payer (to top it), I should have the access to all the national monuments. As much as or more than the foreign tourists. And stop giving the tired excuse of they bringing dollars. If the guys at tourist spots are welcoming to Indians too, I do not see why a billion plus people would not visit places.</p><p>And it happens all too regularly. Come down to Pune. Go and try getting a picture clicked in front of the Osho Ashram (yes the same ashram which caters only to <em>firangs</em> and Indians with deep pockets!!!), and the guards take an exception to it. As if the road in front of the place belongs to these guys!!! So much so for roaming freely in your own country!!!</p><p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifdD1nA1ozSBwDhlQR7UPmWrw0X9RDEX0VsOS4GJXM192WpjRDwPiBVFIa-el5P5GLBqVi1cPc-obEpFgYprdiRTZSHa0L-5UkUlRaB7amfG6Gc2uFxwqeG5g9_18qbBcELQhGSAcU3-bU/s320/district9poster1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396055255037302338" /></p><p>I'm not against foreigners visiting India. Heck no. But I'm opposed to this idea of bending backwards and welcoming foreigners. Of treating my own countrymen as second rate citizens. What a farce.....</p>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-76761557070625807922009-10-13T17:56:00.005+05:302009-10-13T18:09:59.345+05:30Pulp fiction.....One of the best movies which mirrors the society more than adequately...... as is always the case with Tarentino, the characters of the movie are greatly etched and keep coming back..... great background score and awesome screenplay..... one of my favorite-est lines of the movie, worded by <em>the Jules</em> himself<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392062895032510322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjBI3J6Wa3rTBeo6p1lKSFC4YmFYY9lOV77rN2b6diltXtLYDhLtDTGsaksWIX9z815PPUYg1jWZN69tAUsj7wIx3ib9PN7PRmPABPw8yqsSGyXSByj0f1Fsc_visYxTxs6IF9bQ-O9Fzf/s320/pulp_fiction_wallpaper_jules_vince_1600x1200.jpg" border="0" /><br /><blockquote><br /><p>"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the<br />selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity<br />and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness. For he is<br />truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children."</p><p>And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you."<br /></p></blockquote>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309289902300781805.post-89304758032989880332009-10-07T20:22:00.006+05:302009-10-07T20:57:35.859+05:30My idea of a perfect weekday.....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4HryzqoaDwfjw1Z03CrKoG5_sGzFXGYRx_xHgmdfM6lPjdK8JxAadnQfsu0MF3W0g_CIalhBNE_DbVfmV3519HKR0ciwWwn1kbUw_wn8v3MbNiF4AsJKB1cirgP3cRtOhgLIoOKhIIGk/s1600-h/sleep-garfield.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4HryzqoaDwfjw1Z03CrKoG5_sGzFXGYRx_xHgmdfM6lPjdK8JxAadnQfsu0MF3W0g_CIalhBNE_DbVfmV3519HKR0ciwWwn1kbUw_wn8v3MbNiF4AsJKB1cirgP3cRtOhgLIoOKhIIGk/s320/sleep-garfield.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389878627634140946" /></a><br /><br /><div>The cell phone alarm rings for the nth time and with blatant stubbornness, I press the snooze button for the nth time (its kinda love and hate relationship that we have). But this time when it rings, 'my' alarm bells start ringing 'coz its 11:30 am and I have a presentation at 1200hrs. Whoa!!! I jump off the bed (and in the process ape Ethan Hunt!!!) and barely make it to the class. Barely.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>I'm sure the above scene is not too alien for our imagination 'coz most of us are <em>lazy asses. </em>Still, here's my list of acts, which, if they fall into place, make for a perfect weekday. So here goes nothing:</div><br /><ul><br /><li>It starts with one of my friends shouting and making all the noises in this world to wake me up. Or this pious act is sometimes done by my cell.</li><br /><li>At least two large cups of tea (just writing 'bout it makes me crave for it!!!) for breakfast. I don't care if I don't have anything to eat, but no compromises on my daily dose of caffeine.</li><br /><li>Now all this exercise will be futile without me smoking. I need my share of nicotine, man!!! And stop judging me, I'm not a rapist!!!</li><br /><li>Some nondescript events here and there (like attending classes and all) and its lunch.</li><br /><li>Lunch should be heavy. Heavier the better. Being the Bong that I am, I live to eat.....</li><br /><li>An afternoon nap is inevitable (provided fate has not scheduled a class or two).</li><br /><li>Its evening and my caffeine+nicotine craving is back. But this time, its not the mess. A <em>tapri </em>(roadside tea stall) is the single-point-of-meeting for all the <em>lazy asses. </em>Just for the records, all you high nosed people who have tea in the typical <em>Victorian</em> fashion<em>, </em>its NO good (#fail I say).</li><br /><li>And before we even realize, its dinner time. Time for the pigs to feast on the grub, once again.</li><br /><li>Night is for everything (yeah yeah that too, you dirty mind) but studies. Invariably it would be a movie(s) or seasons of some sitcom (its the fifth rerun of <em>Friends</em> for me!!!)<em>. </em>If movies fail to do the trick, we sneak out of our hostel for the graveyard shift of tea and maggi :)</li><br /><li>Now what? Sleep.</li></ul><br /><p>That's pretty much what a typical day of mine pans out like. Yes we would have submissions, evaluations, exams et all, but the happen. They just happen. If it was not for the 11th hour, we would have never finished the job on our hands.....</p>Gautamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08758674623422217961noreply@blogger.com2